


Do you want to see my castle?

by Chiomi, Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon!Stiles, Knight!Derek, Multi, in which Derek is actually Shrek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiomi/pseuds/Chiomi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysBoth/pseuds/Wolftraps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The abduction of Queen Lydia was probably the stupidest thing Stiles had ever done (excepting maybe that one incident with the satyr), especially as she now refuses to <em>go the hell home.</em> Only two people have been able to visit since she came, and none of the knights ever make it far enough to fight.</p><p>Derek doesn't care about the queen. He doesn't care about the dragon. He just wants to be left alone, and apparently this is the only way to make that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you want to see my castle?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnderOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderOrange/gifts).



_Once upon a time, in a land long at war with the creatures of magic, there lived a righteous king and queen with their beautiful daughter. The king, though his family had fought dark creatures for generations, tried to rule justly, guided by a code meant to keep all his citizens safe. The queen, however, was too blinded by her hatred, and it was her downfall._  
  
 _The year following the queen's death was a hard time for the land. Attacks on and by the dark creatures soared. Crops failed, people died. In order to save his country, the king agreed to an alliance with a neighboring land; a marriage between him and their princess. She was young, nearly the same age as his daughter, but she was also very beautiful and had the makings of a true leader. They were wed within weeks of the alliance being struck, and all signs pointed to the union being a beneficial one for all._  
  
 _Until the day the new queen was taken by a dragon._  
  
\----------

  
The abduction of Queen Lydia was probably the stupidest thing Stiles had ever done (excepting maybe that one incident with the satyr), especially as she now refuses to _go the hell home._  
  
She says she has the lab just the way she wants it, and really, it serves the court right for not letting her be on the High Council after her arranged marriage to the King. Once she gets going on that, Stiles mostly just nods and retreats to the courtyard to practice blowing smoke rings. Which is what he's doing when Allison slips in the back gate, nimble-footed as ever and so silent that his only warning comes from his magic.  
  
"Can't you make noise?" he grumbles, puffing another ring. He doesn't bother raising his head to look at her. She invades his home too often for him to bother, and it's not like she's coming to see _him._  
  
"Sorry," she says. She's not. "There's another hunter coming."  
  
Like that matters these days. Stiles rolls his eyes and yawns, tail flicking in annoyance. He almost swipes Allison with it, but she just hops over it as she slowly makes her way around him toward the keep. Some day he'll catch her off guard, he swears.  
  
“So? Tell Lydia, not me. It's not like they'll make it this far.”  
  
Allison shrugs half-apologetically and pats his haunches, ducking out of the way to avoid a swipe from his wing. “Scott’s out there waiting for a ride if you want to get him," she offers, "but the hunter was already halfway up the mountain when we spotted him.”  
  
Stiles groans and just sort of falls onto his side, dirt and dust flying up as the ground shakes with the impact, and there's a shrill scream of outrage from the direction of the castle proper. Stiles ignores it, looking up at Allison pitifully. “He took the main road, didn’t he? He’s going to take the main road up and get himself blown up in one of Lydia’s traps and she’s going to be so _scathing._ ”  
  
"Probably," Allison agrees, patting his brow-ridge, then gestures vaguely at the keep itself. “I’m just going to -”  
  
“Yes, fine, go. Just leave me here to waste away from boredom. Have fun with your stepmother.”  
  
She grins wickedly at him over her shoulder on the way in.  
  
Stiles lifts himself up a little less than gracefully and stretches before settling back down on his haunches. There’s no point in flying out to get Scott until after Lydia’s minefield has blown up whatever hopeful knight was suckered into accepting the quest. He'll go once he hears the explosion. And he _will_ hear one. It's not like the mountain is particularly treacherous, barely a challenge to any knight or hunter worth a damn. But Allison is the only person who can navigate the minefield without some help.  
  
It stays quiet for too long, long enough that Stiles can hear the muffled giggling from inside that means that Allison has successfully distracted Lydia. He groans and hides his head beneath his wings, and then he waits.  
  
\------

  
Derek hates the stupid mountain. He hates the rocks and the cliffs and the goddamn creeping lichens he's still scraping off his armor with the head of his spear. And he hates the damn armor, too. It's tight, confining, and weighs heavy on him, and he can barely feel the wind on his face. He would much rather be back home, running free in his forest, but this is the only way to make sure it _stays_ forest and not charred graveyard. So he treks over the mountain, wearing plates of metal over his human form so he doesn't frighten the captive queen, and curses the world.  
  
“Are you here to kill the dragon?”  
  
Derek glares upwards, because he hadn't heard or smelled anything before now and the damn mountain is supposed to be uninhabited. This is apparently faulty information, though, since there’s some kid perched on the rocks, still wet behind the ears, but in clean, hard-wearing clothing that suggest he lives somewhere nearby. “No, I’m here to pick flowers.”  
  
The kid smiles kind of sadly at him and shrugs. “Watch out for land mines.”  
  
Derek hesitates, just for a moment, then forges on. He doesn't have time for this; for this awful armor, for the stupid mountain, or for people who shouldn't exist trying to bullshit him. All he wants to do is finish the damn mission. Kill the dragon, rescue the damsel, go the hell home where no one will bother him again. He freezes suddenly when he gets a scent of accelerants from up ahead. The kid had to have been joking.  
  
He prowls forward more carefully until he finds a small, mostly buried, clay jar that smells like _death._ What need does a dragon possibly have for explosives? A great one, apparently, at least for this particular dragon. There’s a veritable perimeter of them, spaced unevenly such that they’d be extraordinarily difficult for a human to predict. They’re all earth-colored, planted just beneath the surface, and the scent of them is Derek’s primary indicator of their presence. He navigates around them carefully, and the periodic shrapnel that looks as if it were once worked metal attests to him being one of the few capable of making it through unscathed. He sidesteps another mine and carefully grabs a second, slightly singed, spear from the ground. Just in case.  
  
Picking his way through takes time, effort, and sparks an ever increasing paranoia. He’s beginning to seriously doubt that the dragon could have done all of these; some of them smell like they have agents in them that are poison to all magical creatures. The sun is shifting into early afternoon by the time he reaches the side gate. The main one is two stories high, and barred with iron, but this one’s small and recessed into the wall. More importantly: it’s only wood.  
  
Derek kicks the door in.  
  
The dragon looks almost surprised, when he bursts in, and Derek would take that as flattering if it weren't for the fact that there's a fucking minefield surrounding the place. He throws one spear and watches it catch and tear wing membrane before it's shaken off and skitters across the ground. It almost sounds like the dragon swears, but Derek doesn't have time to think about that.  
  
He ducks and rolls, awkwardly but as best he can within his constraints, to avoid a wave of fire, coming up with a short, sharp jab with the spear he'd picked up in the minefield. It hits directly, right in the dragon's throat, but either its scales are too hard or the old spearhead is too blunt. Even with his strength behind it, the spear glances off, and the dragon swings its head around too fast to track. Fire blazes over him, and armor is useless, worse than useless: it’s a broiling pan. Derek shifts uncontrollably with the agony, body desiring its more familiar wolf form in the face of danger, of death, and the hot metal digs into his skin. He can’t move. He roars.  
  
He roars and reaches for human shape, just enough to thrust again, further. He’ll heal. Derek will heal eventually, as long as kills the damned dragon now. He feels the spear catch, sink in, but the fire just redoubles, and he can’t, he can’t -  
  
\------

  
As carefully as he can possibly manage, Stiles peels the knight out of his armor with his claws. It’s damaged beyond repair in the process, but it means the knight stops cooking. The scent of charred wolf, of burning hair and flesh, is not a pleasant one, but Stiles is still totally fascinated by the notes of it layered inextricably with the scent of hot metal and burned human. “Lydia!”  
  
A pause, then from the keep, a very disgruntled, “What?”  
  
“Come help me save your rescuer. He’s some kind of shifter, and in need of medical attention.”  
  
Her consideration is almost audible. “Bring him up to the infirmary. I hope you know I have no idea what I’m doing.”  
  
“I love you,” he shouts futilely up at her. He considers the knight, how to move him. The castle hallways are broad, but not enough for him to carry the man up through the keep in this form. He'll have to shift, but then he'll also probably have to drag the guy and it'll take longer to heal from the spears he'd had shoved in him.  
  
In the end, Stiles ends up dragging him through the halls by his extremely muscular shoulders, watching the least severe burns start to pinken and heal around the edges.  
  
"You better appreciate this," Stiles tells the unconscious knight. "And don't you dare complain if I'm getting blood on you. That's your fault. _You_ stabbed _me._ "  
  
Lydia and Allison are both in the seldom-used infirmary when he finally makes it there, sleeves tied back and staring at him judgmentally. Allison’s coat has gone missing somewhere, and Lydia’s hair is mussed, and they’re probably going to kill him later, but right now this is more important. It’s been so long since he’s met another shifter.  
  
Also, "Hey, this is _not_ my fault. He wouldn't even be here if you'd just go home!" Lydia rolls her eyes.  
  
They wash the wounds with cool water, and steam rises from some of his skin: Stiles’ fires run hot. There’s not much they can do beyond that, since the wounds are already healing on their own. When they’ve done what they can, Allison quickly patches a bandage over the wound in Stiles' chest and then they leave Stiles to watch over their patient - he’s still Stiles’ problem, apparently, even though he’s obviously there for Lydia.  
  
Through the open window, Stiles hears a horn; Scott, reminding them he's waiting. Stiles should go get him, but it'll take at least another few minutes to heal his own wounds, and there's no telling when the wolfman will wake up. It seems like an awful idea to just leave him there alone.  
  
He stays under for a while, but it isn't long before he starts twitching like a dog with dreams of the chase. “No,” he mutters. “Stop. Please.”  
  
It’s awful, and Stiles can't listen for more than a few moments. He reaches out and puts a hand on the man's ankle, enough to hopefully wake him up but not prompt him to attack. He lurches into wakefulness with a gasp and a flash of red eyes. Stiles pulls back quickly.  
  
“Who are you,” the knight demands when he sees Stiles. “Are you in service to the dragon?”  
  
“Uh, not exactly,” Stiles hedges. “I'm Stiles. I take it you’re here for the Queen?”  
  
He starts rolling upwards, despite the way the still-healing flesh pulls. Stiles makes a move to stop him, but aborts in the face of the glare he receives. Unfortunately, it doesn't make the guy any less attractive.  
  
"No. It just seemed like a good day to get my flesh melted off."  
  
"It wasn't _that_ bad," Stiles argues, even though it kind of was. "Well. At least you're still _alive_ , right? That's good, isn't it?"  
  
"Matter of opinion," the guy grumbles. He looks Stiles over, and Stiles really wishes he knew what that thing he's doing with his eyebrows means. Particularly if it means he'd be willing to stick around for a while after he fails to get Lydia to leave. "What is your purpose here? Why am I alive? And where's the damn queen?"  
  
"Hey, now. I kept you from being broiled alive. You can't even introduce yourself, and maybe wait 'til you've finished healing?" For a moment, he looks like he's contemplating ripping Stiles' throat out with his adorable human bunny teeth, but he scowls instead.  
  
"My name is Derek, and I don't have time for this. Are you going to help me find the queen, or are you going to get in my way?"  
  
“Look, Sir Wolfs-a-lot. I will _gladly_ take you to talk to her majesty. And if you can get her to leave the castle, you are more than welcome to her,” Stiles says, trying to forestall him before he can get up and probably reinjure himself. “Please. I’d like my friends to be able to visit again. But let me tell you now, whatever they promised you is probably not worth the effort it would take.”  
  
Derek pauses, then collapses back on the bed, strings cut. “What.”  
  
“Yeah, uh, she’s been free to go for years.” Stiles turns to shout in the direction of the rest of the castle, “Hey, Lydia! Come show this guy how free you are!”  
  
There’s no response, and Stiles shrugs awkwardly at Derek. He can make himself heard more easily than she can, lungs built to hold fire even in this shape.  
  
"If she's free to go, why did the dragon try to fry me alive?"  
  
"Well, I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with you bursting into his home and stabbing him with spears." Stiles says it more sharply than he means to, but doesn’t want to take it back.  
  
Derek’s eyebrows do this sort of tragic thing where he looks angry and acquiescent all at once.  
  
“So what did they even promise you for her rescue that has you in such a hurry?”  
  
Derek looks away, down at the fading burns on his torso. “My solitude, land, a life unhunted. The Silver King is not fond of my kind.”  
  
“Ah. Well. That’s- awkward.”  
  
As if to prove his point, Allison chooses that moment to waltz in. “Her Majesty implores you to go fuck yourself,” she relays to Stiles in her most Court-correct tones. “Or each other. I gather our patient is awake.”  
  
\------

  
Derek has never seen the princess before, but he knows her as soon as she walks in the door, her scent very similar to her father's in some ways. And to her aunt's. She smells dangerous, and in his weakened state, he can't help going on the defensive, backing up to the headboard to put as much distance between them as possible, claws sinking into the pillow under him.  
  
The guy, Stiles, steps half between Derek and the princess almost immediately. Strange, for someone apparently friendly with the royal family. But he also claimed to have saved Derek's life. And he smells like fire. What is this guy even?  
  
"Oh yeah," Stiles says. "He's bright eyed and probably bushy tailed and being blackmailed into a suicide mission. So that's fun."  
  
“ _What?_ ” the princess snaps.  
  
“Like you didn’t know,” Derek snarls, falling easily into his beta form as her hands drop to the knives at her sides.  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“Your father is threatening to burn down the rest of my home unless I do this, and you’re here, what, coincidentally?” Derek snaps forward, intending to attack first, gain the upper hand, but he's stopped by a hand on his chest. A very hot hand that makes his lingering burns sear.  
  
“Shit, sorry!” Stiles pulls his hand back quickly. There is _no_ way he's just a normal human. “Okay. Just, chill out. Both of you. Look, The princess and her father have very different approaches to the Queen’s happiness, and her presence here has nothing to do with the King. Allison, you know how your dad feels about magical non-humans.”  
  
"You should really go get that," another woman says as she walks in, robe draped around her like the finest gown. The sound of a horn comes through the window, and Stiles shifts guiltily. Meanwhile, the woman levels a stare at Derek that leaves him feeling spectacularly judged.  
  
So this is the queen.  
  
"He looks fine," she says flatly. "And I have a very important, time sensitive reaction brewing. So if you don't mind," her tone says they'd better not, "Allison and I are going to go oversee its completion. We can talk later. Stiles will entertain you."  
  
She grabs the princess's hand and stalks out, trailing Allison behind her.  
  
"You're a horrible person, Lydia!" Stiles calls after them. "Worst mistake _of my life!_ "  
  
He sighs, looking awkward, and gives Derek an apologetic smile. "So, it looks like you're going to be here for a while. I, uh, I need to go do something. It'll only take a few minutes. Could you just- Stay put?"  
  
Of course, Derek agrees.  
  
\------

  
Derek did not stay put. And Stiles isn't really surprised. Scott, wonderful friend that he is, offers to help look, but Stiles just waves him off to Lydia's room. Best to keep Her Majesty happy.  
  
Not Stiles, though. It doesn't matter if Stiles is happy. He finds Derek in _his_ room. His room of odds and ends and treasures. The one he sleeps in if the weather is bad and he can actually find the bed. Or just if he wants to get away from Lydia. No one comes in here but him.  
  
And now Derek's here, and he's messing with the order of things, and, just, _moving_ stuff.  
  
"Of course. Make yourself at home. Touch all my things. Go right ahead."  
  
"There a lot of blue in here."  
  
"So? I like blue. It's pretty."  
  
"The fireplace is the only thing clear of things."  
  
"I like to be warm. And we don't exactly need _more_ fire hazards around here. _So?_ "  
  
"This is your room, then?"  
  
" _Yes._ "  
  
"It looks like a dragon's hoard."  
  
"Yeah, well, maybe because it is. You win. Yes, I am the dread dragon Stiles. Now could you _put that back?_ "  
  
"You set me on fire."  
  
"You stabbed me! I also saved your life!"  
  
" _Why?_ " And this is it. This is what Derek's attitude is really about. He has Stiles backed against the wall, and Stiles is wishing he wasn't quite so aware of how attractive Derek is.  
  
"Because you didn't deserve to die."  
  
"You don't know that." The light from the fireplace is flashing off Derek's red eyes, and they shine like gems. They're gorgeous, and Stiles wants them. Wants Derek.  
  
"I think I do," he whispers, and leans forward to press his lips against Derek's. He's learned a bit about people, though, since this whole Lydia fiasco began, so he doesn't press. He leans back, covets those eyes, and waits for Derek to come to him. And so he does.  
  
  
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I met another shifter?" Stiles asks later, comfortably warm in the bed they've uncovered, though Derek seems like he may overheat. "I can't even walk out my own front gate in this form. Literally. Those three upstairs have been my _only_ company for the last few years, and they often get, uh, _preoccupied._ "  
  
He bounds upright, and starts rummaging on one of his shelves. He knows it’s here. He’s not actually disorganized, there’s just a lot of stuff - aha. The crest matches the markings from Derek’s destroyed armor. "Look, I'm sorry about your home. And I will try and help you convince Lydia to go. But if she won't, or something happens, you can stay here. I mean, I get the feeling we'd be at each other's throats half the time, but at least it wouldn't be boring. And- and I can promise you, the only thing that could burn this place down is me."  
  
Stiles proffers the triskelion signet ring, the arches almost delicate.  
  
Derek sits up, and takes it from Stiles’ hand. He looks at it, and inhales deeply, and then slips it on his finger.  
  
\------

  
Scott and Allison join forces to make dinner. A treat, since most days Stiles has to fly miles away just to nab a sheep and Lydia makes do with simple meals. After… things, Derek and Stiles had returned to the infirmary, which is where Lydia and her entourage found them. She agreed to at least hear Derek out, but not until after they've eaten.  
  
Wonderful Scott keeps up most of the dinner conversation with Lydia, only including Derek at the best times, when it's least obvious that he hasn't sat at a table for a very long time. And after, true to her word, Lydia listens. Mostly to Derek, since Stiles' argument boils down to 'get out of my damn house'.  
  
"Is there anything _really_ worth you going back for?" Lydia asks, voice tight and intense.  
  
“My home,” Derek says, snappish and unimpressed.  
  
"Just build a new one." Lydia waves her hand dismissively, and Derek stares at her like he’s just realized she’s personally responsible for everything horrible in his life. Which: fair enough.  
  
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure he's totally prepared to build a new _forest_ , Lydia," Stiles cuts in before it can escalate too quickly to handle. She looks at him with a familiar disgust and sighs.  
  
“Well, if they’re resorting to blackmail to get knights to come for me, I suppose it may be time to go back,” Lydia grants. Stiles' fists go up for a victory cheer of their own accord. "Temporarily."  
  
" _Fuck._ "  
  
Lydia flips her hair back. “Sir- What was your name again?”  
  
“I'm not actually a-" he cuts off when Stiles' elbow is introduced to his ribs. "Derek Hale.”  
  
“Sir Hale, did Chris threaten you directly?”  
  
Derek twitches, uncomfortable. “There was pie.”  
  
Allison, Lydia, and Scott all make noises of sympathetic understanding, and Stiles is left to wonder what the actual fuck.  
  
"My father is a man of his word," Allison says. "But it would still probably be best if you didn't return to court. Scott and I will escort Lydia back and negotiate with my father to release your forest back to you. Until then, it would probably be best if you stayed here."  
  
"It's fine with me," Stiles throws in, probably a little too eagerly by the looks he gets. "I told you, I don't meet many shifters. I can show you around the castle when we're done here."  
  
“I won’t be your pity case,” Derek snaps, and Lydia scoffs.  
  
“Trust me,” she says witheringly, “Stiles does not want to 'show you his castle' out of pity.”  
  
Stiles can feel his face flame and pushes back from the table. "I think we're good right? Good? Good. I'm going to go find Derek a room now. I'm assuming you can all let yourselves out in the morning. Good."  
  
He makes it to the door before he stops and turns around, making up his mind. He still refuses to look Lydia in the face, he doesn't need any more of her smugness, but he grabs Derek's arm and drags him out with him.  
  
\------

  
The minefield still hasn't been cleared when Lydia and the others come back two weeks later, so Allison goes on ahead to procure their ride. She comes back not long after, with a distinct lack of dragon and a very red face.  
  
"They're, uh, busy," she says. "We should probably just wait here." And they do, for two hours. When Stiles finally comes to get them, he doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed at Lydia's judging glare.

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on tumblr at [wolftraps](http://wolftraps.tumblr.com) and [uswe](http://uswe.tumblr.com).


End file.
